


the earth is not a cold dead place

by nevernevergirl



Category: Runaways (Comics), Runaways (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, season 2 fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 09:18:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17041025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevernevergirl/pseuds/nevernevergirl
Summary: On the run, Gert's anxiety keeps her up at night. Chase helps. Sort of.Season 2 speculation fic.





	the earth is not a cold dead place

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, full disclosure that this fic was definitely written with spoilers for the first episode of season 2 in mind, but it's fairly vague and doesn't contain any plot spoilers or specifics. If you've seen the Gertchase sneak peak, episode stills, trailer, or like....heard Ariela talk about Gert this season, you're probably good?

“I think this is a coping mechanism.”

 

Chase is halfway to asleep when Gert says it, but she blurts it out so quickly and out of nowhere that he thinks he’d have been confused anyway.

 

He rolls over to face her; the tent’s a tight space, so his knee knocks against hers. She shivers a little, and pulls her blanket (his jacket) around her shoulders a little more tightly.

 

“What?”

 

And, apparently, that’s the wrong thing to say, because she blushes—he can’t _really_ tell, because it’s dark, but she always ducks her head like that when she blushes—and turns onto her back, away from him. He sighs.

 

“Hey, no, I’m sorry. I’m listening, okay? What’s a coping mechanism?”

 

“Like, the definition, or—”

 

“Gert.”

 

She doesn’t turn back over, and she just kind of silently stares up at the ceiling of the tent for a second.

 

“Me coming in here tonight,” she mumbles, finally.

 

“You said Molly wanted to be alone,” he says, carefully. He thinks he gets the direction they’re going in here, but Gert’s all sharp turns and constantly shifting into reverse. It’s not a bad thing, because she wouldn’t really be Gert if she didn’t confuse the hell out of him, but he thinks he’s still learning how to keep up.

 

“No. I mean, yeah, she did,” she sighed. “I mean sleeping with you. _Next_ to you. Sleeping next to you.”

 

Her voice goes a little high as she corrects herself. Chase holds back a laugh, because he _knows_ laughing at her’s the wrong thing to do right now, but it’s definitely a struggle.

 

“I don’t mind,” he says, instead. “With _or_ next to you.”

 

Making a joke out of it was a gamble, but Gert snorts, and he grins. They lay like that for a moment, in a comfortable quiet with the sounds of the overpass and Alex’s snoring outside sort of muffled by the fabric of the tent.

 

“I used to get these really bad nightmares,” she says, almost idly, but she’s still clutching his jacket, her fingers curled tightly into the collar. “I don’t even know if they were really nightmares because I could never remember them, but I’d wake up feeling so anxious, and then I’d usually have a panic attack. It got bad enough that my mom slept in my room for awhile, which, you know, _awesome_ , because I was, like, Molly’s age.”

 

He watches her carefully. He’s pretty sure every single one of her muscles are tensed up.

 

“That’s. Shitty,” he says, because he’s a completely idiot, apparently. She laughs a little, wryly.

 

“Yeah,” she mumbles. “Mom used to count with me until I calmed down a little. Then she’d hold my hand, and I’d count her breaths until I fell asleep. If she was there, I usually didn’t wake up more than once a night.”

 

“Sounds like it helped.”

 

“Sort of. I mean, it helped me cope. It didn’t fix the problem, that’s what therapy and meds are for,” she says, rambling. “And I don’t have either of those right now, and my mom’s a murderer, so.”

 

“So you came in here with me.” Gert winces, and he frowns. “Gert, I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t mind.”

 

“It doesn’t matter if you mind. I’m, like. Using you.”

 

“No, you’re not.”

 

“Everything’s going to shit, and I don’t have my meds, and there’s a six foot _dinosaur_ that’s _channeling my anxiety disorder_ ,” she says.

 

“So maybe you’re allowed to find a way to cope.”

 

She bites her lip, turning back on to her side slowly, facing him. She’s quiet for a moment, rubbing the jacket fabric between her fingers.

 

“I’m sorry about earlier. When I made you watch Lace.”

 

“If you’re apologizing for the babysitting part, I _definitely_ don’t accept. She almost took my head off.”

 

Gert rolls her eyes. “Did you try to pet her? You always go for the side of her neck, and she hates that.”

 

“Oh, well, in that case. My bad.”

 

Gert grins for a moment, then bites her lip. “That’s not what I was apologizing for.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, okay? And isn’t that, like. Anti-feminist of you or whatever?”

 

“You’re missing a lot of nuance with that statement,” she says, solemnly. He laughs, and she shakes her head. “Everything’s just a lot right now. And I don’t know how any of this is supposed to work.”

 

“I know,” he says, softly. He reaches out to push a lock of hair behind her ear, then holds out his hand. “Do you want to see if you can fall asleep?”

 

She smiles, reaching her hand out from underneath the jacket, placing her hand in his.

 

“Are you trying to be like my mom?” she whispers. He laughs.

 

“Definitely not.”

 

Gert grins. “Good.”


End file.
